


Now I will be Forgotten

by JaderTroes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Forbidden Love, Growing Old, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaderTroes/pseuds/JaderTroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My mother thought it was a sick obsession. It probably is, but it's your fault I am this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To not get confused the italicized texts are only heard inside Jean's mind.

The meadows of poppies were filled to the brim with bright reds and yellows this season. The winds ran through the fields pushing pollen up into the air and into my nostrils. Walking along the cobble stone bridge, the water rippled below the mossy arch. I did not stop to peer into the murky stream. Kicking rocks below my feet with each step I took, my horse followed obediently to each tug of the leather strap. Pollen stirred up into the air to mix with the sickeningly sweet fragrance of poppies which made my nose itch. Hand reaching up I began to rub at my reddened nose, though I shouldn't have started because it made the itch worsen.

 

Approaching my home, closer with each step I took, something felt out of place. The feeling was distant and cold, it made my head begin to spin. Maybe it was the barometric pressure, or maybe I forgot to take my medication again.

 

My upper lip began to sweat profusely as my horse began to pull against its leather reins. My feet kept moving forward but my heart told me to back. It felt like thousands of eyes were watching and memorizing each movement I took. Eyes that laughed at my graying hair and limping horse all while invading my every thought.

 

Wait...What was I saying. Remember what the Doctor told you. People can't hear your thoughts, but thinking my mind was the safest place I could keep myself organized was almost a joke as the voices haunted me there too. The imitations of the people I had lost haunted me now, speaking to me at inconvenient times. Some of them spoke to me more often than others, but you spoke to me the most.

 

_Have you lost your way, Kirschtein?_

 

Shit, I did forget my medication. Your voice was inside my head again. Pounding against my skull, the voice grew softer as my barricades began to rise up.

 

I saw shadows moving in the distance through the trees. Being a little more spooked than my horse, Mabel, I began to walk faster towards home. With my house in sight now, my lip drenched, I wiped the beading sweat from my face. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

 

_Slow down or you're going to hurt yourself._

 

The house was old, and ruined slightly. Red paint peeling off the wooden planks and the once white fence turning a dull cream exposing the cracked wood below that began to rot alongside my youth. Moving nimbly towards the gate, I placed my hand down to reach for the latch. Grabbing at nothing, I quickly looked to notice the string holding it together had been cut. I pushed the wood open slowly to ease my horse inside.

 

My land had been uncultivated and unkempt for many years passing. The fauna and flora grown abundant, taking over most of the property except for the cleared path of stones leading up to the house. Walking up the clearing while listening carefully, my five dulled senses were determined to catch the trespassers this time. I went behind to the old stable to put Mabel away, she had a long day of riding and deserved a break.

 

No signs of the trespassers yet, maybe they had already come and gone. Hope they didn't take anything from my house this time around. Walking in an inch deep of mud, my boots were like suction cups with each step I took into the barn. Bringing Mabel to her stall, I removed the bridal from her face then reached into my right pocket and pulled out a single sugar cube. Mabel was greedy with sugar cubes, so I gave her one more after that, otherwise she'd make a ruckus all night. She could be a down right brat sometimes, but she is the most reliable horse anyone could ever ask for.

 

Shutting the barn doors tightly a soft brush against my shoulder made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. I darted to look behind me, but no one was there. I went towards the house to open the back door, which to my luck was still locked, and entered inside. Interior wallpaper was peeling at the edges and yellowing from the thick fires used to keep warm in the winter. It was small, and quaint with only two rooms connected to the kitchen. The furniture was very old but still useable in my eyes. Only had to replace the chair legs a few times for the kitchen set, so they still had a many years of use left until collapsing.

 

I removed my cap from my head and shed off my coat to hang next to the door. I sat down to take off my muddy boots one at a time before placing them underneath the small bench that sat next to the door. I went over to the brass kettle and placed it on the stove. I crouched down and opened the iron grate to toss in a lit match, then poked at the embers to start a fire for my water.

 

I went over and sat at the table. Pulling the knife out of my pocket and placing it arms length away from myself, I reached over to the small box left for me and pulled it in front of myself. Opening the box I removed small vials, but grew impatient and needy for my medication with each empty vial that I removed. All of the vials had been used up and now the anxious feelings would never stop. I threw the box on the ground and balled my fists up in rage, fingernails digging into my skin.

 

_Are you not feeling well? Let me help you with that._

 

No. You need to get out of my head and now the room is spinning stop that, stop making everything spin I know you're doing this to me. Growing cold, my hands felt clammy as I balled them tighter together. I slammed my fists down on the table causing the vials to spill all over the floor.

 

_I thought you liked spinning. We used to love to spin together, remember. We'd spin._

 

The kettle was blowing loudly to let me know I need to move to make it stop. Right, movement, but how do I move again? Stumbling up and out of the chair, I staggered towards to stove, feet knocking into each other. Anxiety was telling me to make sure not to drop the heated water, but my fumbling wet, clammy fingers protested.

 

_And spin..._

 

Okay, take it slow and steady, the noise isn't making the room spin any slower.

 

_Spin..._

 

A loud thud in the kitchen, then hot water trickled slowly across the floor.

 

_And spin until we'd fall down._

 

Something fell.

No, I fell.

 

A knock on my front door.

 

I should probably get that, but I'm glued to the wood and can't even help myself realize that I need to get off the floor at some point.

 

_Help me, please, I beg of you. Let me in or they're going to capture me._

 

Rolling onto my side, I felt paralyzed but the water was hot against my skin and boy did it burn. My mind was racing as fast as it spun and I couldn't keep up. The knocking grew louder and violent, but who could be knocking at my door at this hour. Slamming my fists against my head, I tried to force you out of me. The windows began to shake from being pounded on but your voice kept talking to me, telling me to answer you because you were alone and scared without me.

 

That wasn't true because I was alone and scared without you. The windows bended slightly and I thought glass would come flying into the room at any moment. The fear that bound me to the floor boards was lifted as I gained courage against you. You weren't real.

 

_Please, help me. Stop ignoring me._

 

You are not real, you can't be real. I'll stop ignoring you as soon as you stop torturing me.

 

_It's so hot, I can't make it stop burning. Make them stop burning me Jean._

 

I can't make it stop. You left me this way, so you need to fix it yourself. Fix me too while you're at it.

 

The pounding stopped and your voice ceased to speak any longer to me.

 

The pounding never existed. It was all your nasty parlor tricks. You're a plague, the kind of disease that was impossible to get rid of. The kind that took over and cross contaminated with other diseases, spreading until there was no way out of it except to accept a doomed fate. Accept the fate without any other choice, but what you had accepted was a plague, my plague actually.


	2. Chapter 2

There they were lying in front of my door again, those damn flowers that smelled so awful. Of all the flowers you had to pick, why did you have to pick the ones that smelled like sweet honey nectar slathered on a sweaty body. The scent sickened me and it took all I had to not throw them to the ground.

 

Rows on rows of poppies were just beyond my door, so why do you bring me this specific species. The flowers lanceolate leaves covered in miniscule white hairs and clusters of star-shaped, white flowers encased by over-sized white bracts made it an extraordinarily beautiful sight. The flower had a simplistic beauty that reminded me of a mothers protection and warmth. You were neither of those to me, so the flower was almost pointless to keep. Almost.

 

Bending down and grabbing the flowers, I begrudgingly brought them inside. My house had began to reek of these years ago when you first started bringing them to my doorstep. The first time I had received the flowers had been two weeks after buying this cottage for my mother and I to reside in for the time being. Mother was sick and no one was around to take care of her, hence where I came in.

 

We bought up this place in a hurry. It was a real dump, but we fixed it up together and it became our new home after the uprising and downfall of the monarchy. That was twenty years ago though, now I am here alone except for you and your flowers.

 

The dark mahogany mantle was packed with vases stuffed with edelweiss I had collected from you over the years. It's funny how they never die. The flowers must have an eternal life span or maybe they are special because you picked them. Either way, I still have some flowers from ten years ago that have never wilted, even to this day they look and smell just as awful as the first day you left them on my doorstep. I have resorted to keeping them in baskets since I have ran out of vases two years ago.

 

Lifting up a large, deep cerulean vase, I took out the old batch of edelweiss and tossed them into the basket next to the fire place, replacing them with the flowers from today. I moved across the beaten red rug to the opposite side of the room to plop into my favorite armchair.

 

Today would be a good day to start painting again. Lifting the folded easel from off the ground, I assembled it together before placing the large canvas that had been propped against the armchair for months into the wooden slot. I pulled out the large paint pallet I have always used, then popped open some primary colours and went to town experimenting. I was mixing colours together to create new shades and old shades alike to spread across the clean, white space.

 

Spending hours alone in the confined room gave me a false sense of hope in my old age. Painting brought me joy, and that was hard to come across after losing my faith in humanity. Having spent countless hours of labor in the stuffy room, only the sound of brushes dipping in water and paint echoing through the house, I placed my paint brush into the mason jar of greenish water. Having almost finished the painting, my hands were covered in a thick layer of acrylic. I wiped across the sweat on my forehead with my dirtied hand, leaving a long streak of green across my skin.

 

This was the first painting I had completed in the past few months. This time it felt like an accomplishment, unlike the many other failures. The colors looked marvelous in my opinion. The various shades of purple and green contrasting against the ash brown and deepened honey. My lips were dry now and throat itched for something to drink.

 

I silently gloated to myself as I walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Filling the cup to the brim, I brought it up to my lips gulping down half of the large glass in three big swigs. Some of the flowers you gave me sat in the windowsill, stretching their long arms outwards towards the warmth of the sunbeams. Plucking a bloom off a single stem I rubbed it between two fingers, the petal felt much different than it looked. It crumbled at the touch of my fingertips despite looking healthy and alive.

 

At the strike of noon, the large clock in the living room let out a subtle melody of bells ringing. It was about time to take Mabel out, but I needed to look at the master piece one more time. Just to reassure myself of course.

 

Walked fully around the armchair before letting the half drank cup of water slip to the floor. The cup shattered into pieces. The picture was not what I remembered painting.

 

This can't be right. I could have sworn I was painting a perfect portrait of my mother in her youth, not you. Your vibrant green eyes stared me down like a vulture picking at an old carcass.

Yes, the very eyes I gave you sent shivers down my spine. Why did I use my talent this way, of all the things I could paint why did it have to be you. Every god damn time it was always you in the end and that is why I quit. You frustrate me to the core, how can I get rid of you when all I want is to keep you to myself. Locking away each and every one of the paintings of you so I can't be reminded of my disgusting obedience. You have a choke hold on me and I'm grabbing the painting off the easel and tossing it into the locked room to the left. The same room that held all the spine shivering portraits of you.

 

My mother thought it was a sick obsession. It probably is, but it's your fault I am this way.

 

My head began to pound against my front lobe like thunder, I need another drink.

I should probably send message for my doctor now.

 

I flipped the wooden cover off the telegraph that sat in the corner. I sent a message to please come quickly, making sure to add my name at the end before I left an extra note that my vials were all used up.

 

I need to get out of the house, the space was closing in. I began to head out towards the barn, Mabel always seemed to calm down my pain when I couldn't alleviate it myself. Grass blades swept across my boots as they crunched down on fallen leaves. Mabel grew restless as she saw me enter the barn, the constant neighing and kicking against the broken barn walls concerned me.

 

“Easy there Mabel,” I soothed her by petting long strokes gently down her crest, “what's wrong girl?”

 

She did not ease out of her excitement, the kicking did not cease as she nudged her head against me. She was trying to alert me, give me a reason to go check out the area for anything out of place, but I chose to ignore her.

 

“Now what has gotten into you Mabel, do you want a sugar cube? Is that what you want.” Pulling a cube out and placing it in front of her muzzle she huffed and nudged it out of my hand. I had to assure myself that she was just being a bit bratty today and that everything was going to be fine. If I hadn't convinced myself, I was afraid you would show up.

 

Turning around to head towards the tool rack I soon realized why she was so excited. This must have been what those damn trespassers did. All of the tools had been removed from their posts, leaving only boot prints as the single sign it had been tampered with. I heard a sneeze then nibble foots steps followed by laughter. I barged out the barn doors only to catch the thieves. Two children, a boy and a girl, ran fast downstream towards the meadows of poppies.

 

If they thought I wouldn't chase them, they were wrong. Sprinting after the giggling messes with bouncing brown hair, they turned around and saw me coming towards them. The girl squealed louder yelling, “faster, he's right on our trail!”

 

My pants snagged on a branch that tore a hole through the side of the leg that scraped against my skin. Stopping to remove it from my leg, blood ran down my thigh. Turning my attention back to the children, they were headed straight for your fields.

 

“Hey, stop!” I yelled at them, “don't go in there, those aren't your flowers!”

 

“Go back home, old man!” The boys voice cracked slightly, he couldn't be any older than thirteen. “Crazy Kirschtein is crazier than ma and pa said he would be! Faster, run faster!”

 

“I am warning you, if you step foot into those fields and destroy even one of those flowers I will strangle both of you, you hear me!” They ignored my warning and kept heading downriver towards your flowers. A mere five meters away from the field, I couldn't keep up with them in my old age. If only I was a few years younger I could have easily beaten them to the edge of your fields, scooped them up, and thrown them into the river.

 

I am sorry, I tried my best to stop them.

 

Their boots crushed a narrow path into your sacred grounds as they sprinted far away from my reach. Their voices were faint now, giggling and mocking at me. I went to the edge of the field but did not dare step foot on your soil.

 

They stopped to look in my direction, “What's wrong old man, why did you stop chasing after us? Are you afraid of this field?”

 

“You two need to get out of there. We can't go in there.”

 

_Yes you can._

 

“Yeah, WE can,” the girl added, “don't be a coward, I thought you used to be a soldier. Or did you desert that too?”

 

Calling me a deserter reminded me of all the times I wished I had deserted the legion but stuck it through. I only stuck it out for you after all, so why would I destroy the gifts you've given back to humanity. The gifts you had given to me.

 

Just because I was a soldier doesn't mean I was disrespectful. Respect only came as you aged, understanding that somethings can't be tampered with out of an emotion bond that had been tied to the place. This field was my emotional bond and stepping even an inch in would break the respect I had left for you.

 

_Come on, step into my field. Take me back._

 

Hands began to tremble, I couldn't do this any longer. Gulping down my fears, I leaped over the boundary that divided our worlds. You had gained full control of our actions now. I can't promise those children that I would not strangle them once I dragged them by their earlobes out of here.

 

_Come find me._

 

Here I come.

 

_Attaboy. Let's get them together, like old times._

 

You really need to stay out of this.

My vision blurred but determination lead me towards them.

Not once did they turn around to taunt at me. The children walked silently together, were they unaware of my presence? It was as if my steps were as quiet as the wind that brushed against me. Hair blowing in different directions, I went to speak but nothing came out. Catatonic and riddled with anxiety, the scent of cedar and pine surrounded me.

 

A ghostly figure of short stature began to walk next to me. An icy cold aura emitted from the green cloaked figure as we walked in step, our boots crunching the poppies down to nothing but ruins. Hand lacing pinkies with my own, tears slipped past and fell onto my painted cheeks. My vision worsened.

 

The scent of edelweiss dominated the air.

 

Must we go over this again. I yanked my hand back. Do not touch me.


	3. Chapter 3

Propped up against a tree, dirt clumping underneath my fingernails as I grab at the soil underneath. I was in the middle of the forest but how I got here, I don't know. Grabbing fist fulls of dirt, I examined the brown clumps in my palms. A small worm wriggled in and out of the broken mass and onto my skin.

 

Hand tingling from the shot of ice cold pain against my skin, a small reminder of you.

Should I be thankful for the gift?

 

Did the worm not know any difference between the soil in my hand from the earth's ground. Burrowing itself back into a small ball of wet soil, I brought my hand up towards the warmth of the sun. The identical pink ends moved symmetrically as it dug to escape the rays of light.

 

The worm and I, we both had something in common. We both couldn't sense the very world around us anymore. Self-absorbed, uninterested creatures who lacked the will to understand that the world was moving on without us. To bury our heads deep into the earth was all we knew after all.

Looking comfortable in my hand, I let the worm and its mound slip through my fingers. Watching it fall to the ground I knew there there was no comfort left for me in this world. For the worm, it would always have its dirt. For the two intruding children, their friends and families.

 

For you and I, there is no comfort left to change how this will end between us.

 

Standing tall on feeble knees, I, alone, began my solemn trudge back homewards. Trees surrounded me, all looking the same. Big and small, dead or alive, the smell of bark and wet leaves brought back childhood memories I could not suppress. Under a large weeping tree with vine like branches, I reached out to touch the cracked white bark. Smiling, I remembered coming home from the market place with Mother in the mid-afternoon with arms full of willow bark. The bark was bitter and came in different colours, but that didn't matter since it all worked the same for her. She would chew on the bark for an assortment of reasons: headaches, muscle pains, colds.

 

What Mother swore kept her alive I believe killed her in the end. Chewed the bark until the day she died, and when that day came I threw it all away. Not once touched the bark after her death, but now as the scent of the dampened willow tree I stand underneath brings back the very memory I had suppressed for years, I have felt the hardened exterior of the broken bark once again.

 

Letting my hand slip off the trunk and into my left pocket, I nervously fumbled with some coins at the bottom of the lining. It was too surreal to believe, the sweeps of tree leaves above drowned out my memories; my mothers sweet voice.

 

Moving past the trees and towards the sound of water against rocks, I decided to follow the noise to the source and follow the river upstream. Moving with a limp, the thigh scraped up by the branch did not move easily without pain. Chirping blackbirds flew overhead and into a tall tree.

Reaching the riverbank, I walked alongside the currents while counting the coins between my fingers. When the coins ran out, I grasped them to count again.

 

Large schools of silvered fish swam upstream in the shallow water. Cool breeze running against my dry skin, I pulled my coat tighter against my frame. I chose to ignore the string of sounds that followed me down the river, crunching leaves and snapping twigs. Having counted up the coins for the tenth time, I heard your whispering voice on the winds. Wind stinging against my cheeks like the crack of a whip, I was growing weary of your antics.

 

“Is everything always for show with you?”

 

Stepping around a hollowed trunk to walk by my side, I counted up the coins again to reassure myself this was not a hallucination.

_One, two...._

 

“Nothing is ever for show with me, you're just easily put off.”

 

You're footsteps became staggered like my own, copying my slow limp. Damn it, you made me lose count.

_One, two, three..._

 

“And you're still a bastard for leaving an old man alone in the middle of a forest near dark.”

 

With an ugly smug look on your face you scrunched up your nose at me to expose your Cheshire like grin. “Who ever said you would be alone tonight.”

 

I wiped a falling leaf off my shoulder, “can't consider you alive, so I must be alone.”

That was uncalled for, I know, but it is what it is and we can't do a thing about it.

 

You dropped the smile and became expressionless. Your expression left me clueless as to what you were thinking. That mind of yours was brilliant, if I do admit myself, but it was more dangerous than safe. As I jingled the coins lightly you began to quietly pull at a straggling thread on the end of your frayed cloak.

 

Darting my eyes over, I watched your tongue dart out to lick at the creases of your mouth.“These forests are quite unforgiving sometimes. They can make you feel things you never imagined possible. It was unbearable at first, but your have to learn to numb yourself to withstand it.”

 

Twisting the dark green thread around your finger, I could finally see past your exterior and tap into your emotions. The look flickered behind your eyes just as the one before the riots, before Saint Annie was a household name and everyone we knew had long left us behind like the very worms in this ground. Like the coins in my pocket, would anyone care if we'd be tossed to the river, sinking to bottom to never rise again. I held onto the coins tightly, considering throwing them into the water. It was tempting to lose control of myself and collide my fist with your fat mouth as you fumbled with the knotted string between your fingers.

 

Your lips moved but I could care less about what was coming out, fixating my gaze over to the darkening water. As the wind was dying down I saw fish beginning to disappear one by one. It seemed impossible, while bringing both hands up to rub at my tired eyes I again saw the schools vanish as the water darkened. Stopping in my tracks you only walked on for a little while before noticing I was gone. You turned around to look at me as I approached the river.

 

“Jean?”

 

Falling to my hands and knees I crawled on jagged rocks towards the dark, murky water. I watched two silvery fish swim alongside in a pair, almost as if they were dancing together. They looked happy together, spinning just like how we would. The water was so rapid though, I needed to save them before they're pulled apart by the current. Plunging my entire arms length into the riverbank, I attempted to grab at them to save them from disappearing, but the deeper I searched for the pair of fish in the water, the more I really searched for you.

 

Water pushing against my arms wider strokes through the ripples, it became certain I could not stop this from vanishing out of my life. Shoving my other arm into the water I was ready to plunge down into the bottom to save you. The current sped up against my body and I felt like I was going to really do it this time. This time I was going to go first, I needed to show you I have grown strong.

 

“What are you grabbing at?” Your hand gripped my shoulder tenderly. You were beside me looking to the river. How long had you been watching over me?

 

Locking eye contact with you, I never noticed how much I missed your gorgeous eyes. Eyes with strong viridity could not be contained in such a creature as yourself. You hair had grown wild, speckles of water at the corners of your eyes from irritation as the water splashed up onto your face. There was a light film of dirt plastered onto your cheeks making your still look identical to the boy I remembered from my youth, whereas I did not age as well as you had.

 

“I couldn't save them.” Sitting up, I weakly brought my arms out of the water and around myself. I was soaked and afraid. I had promised myself this would stop, but I could not shake the fear of losing you in the waterway too. The soft breeze brushed through the surrounding dirt, kicking it up into the air as rocks dug into my knees, but I could feel no pain.

 

“I could have done it. Could have stopped it from happening all those years ago, but I didn't. I let this happen to you, to us, and now look at the mess I made. Those years of our lives are gone, all wasted because I didn't help you get out of there.” Even in my old age, I could surprise myself with some of the things that came out of the dark crevasse of my heart.

 

Draping your cloak around my shoulders you embraced my wide shoulders. The scent of edelweiss was embedded into your hair. “Come back with me then, I will protect you this time around, I promise that. You don't have to live alone anymore.” Taunting me with an empty promise, I hugged around your small frame. Arms gripping tightly around you, I pulled you in so close you were sitting in my lap. Your hands rose up my back to cross behind my neck. I shivered as your fingers glided through my hair. To suppress my hunger to kiss you, stop myself from letting you slip right back into my life, it was all hanging by a thread. Faces growing closer I could not let myself do this to you.

 

Slowly massaging circles into my scalp you whispered into my ear, “Do you feel it yet, Jean?”

 

I closed my eyes, “tell me what to feel.”

 

A small noise elicited from the back of your throat as I continued, “please tell me how to feel.”

 

“Can you feel numb for me?”

 

Nipping at my lobe before crashing your lips against mine. Without hesitating, I smothered your lips with my own as my hands lowered down your back. Yes, I did feel it for you, but it felt nothing like being numb. You were controlling me like the puppet I had always been for you, following your every movement. I slipped my hands underneath your dingy shirt, feeling up the smooth skin of your back. Hand running over countless scars that never fully healed, I pushed you onto your back. Hovering above you I attacked your neck, biting at the skin until red circles appeared beneath my teeth. Kissing down each side the pungent smell of rotting flowers became sweet like warm nectar in the spring.

 

You begged for me as I licked against your salted skin. Did you miss the feeling of touch just as much as I did? I clawed my fingernails into your side, rough like you enjoyed it. Tongue smearing my saliva against your neck and up towards your lips, I dipped it inside your mouth before pressing my knee into your groin. You were hard, and so was I, but I couldn't surrender myself to you. Not like this.

 

When you moaned my name against my lips, I had to suppress tears. “We can't do this, its wrong.”

Shoving myself away from you, I left you unaccompanied on the erosive slope. Letting your cloak slip off my shoulder, I brought myself up on two feet. Needing to get home before this got out of hand, I let my hand find it's way back into my pocket, touching the cool metal.

 

You began to get up after me, but I pushed you flat onto your back with the heel of my boot. Lifting my boot off your chest you attempted to get up again, but I denied your wants just like you denied me all of those years ago. You grabbed at my weakened leg before yanking me forwards. I let out a cry of pain before colliding my boot hard into your stomach for that. Letting all the air out of your lungs, I regained balance as you curled into a ball on your side.

 

You eyed the hand in my pocket grasping for an answer from three little coins.

 

You laughed a little to yourself, “Didn't know you still did that. Go ahead, play with your coins, keep reassuring yourself this is real.” Letting out a coughing fit before you spoke again, “you can't keep running from yourself.”

 

Nothing in this world could make me answer you as I left your side. Not once looking back until I reached the familiar graveled path that traveled up to the comfort of my confining walls. I hadn't noticed the coins dug themselves into my skin, leaving traces of blood on the scoured metal.

 

Pulling the three coins out of my pocket, my hand smelled of blood and tin, but also of your skin. Frustration building up inside, I could not figure out how you possessed the power to release my contained emotions. I threw the coins as far as I could, after having counted them up for the last time that night.


	4. Chapter 4

Tombstone slathered in green moss painted with various white stains from droppings. My hand brushing away gathered vines and loose trimming as bugs flew around the fresh bouquet of flowers. Bending down to one knee, I cleared away the filth from the old tops of soil. Grabbing up the pile of flowers you had left for her I replaced them with my own. Mother never liked your flowers.

 

Bringing my hand up to grasp at the treasure around my neck, your treasure, I cleared my throat to speak to her but stringing sentences together became hard when kneeling before her. Talking to her had been easy all of my life, from childhood until adulthood it had been the same. She had always listened attentively to me. Speaking came naturally to us, that was until she left my life for so long. I became muted and you tried to pull me out of my silence, but you can never replace her. Her grave is majestic, and as I would for royalty I am on bended knee before her. Never would I kneel to you, you are not above me.

 

I guess I should come up with something to say already, but my mind is running blank. She must have regretted our last conversation together, I rubbed at the cold metal key. Before, I knew what to say but after her death, I felt abandoned. Lost like you.

 

Getting up from the grave, I took one last look at the engraved name upon the stone. Tracing my fingers along the curved edges, I walked away from her. She had to be rolling in her grave by now, always being disappointed in my negative choices, but I am not a coward anymore mother. Over the years of being alone, I've found that the best things said are the ones that are not.

 

Was it ever worth the arguments between us. She had been worried about my failing lifestyle when her own life provided no meaning to herself. I had no wife, no children, not much money, and could not provide a decent lifestyle for us the same way father had provided before the war. I felt guilty, but she was grateful for all that I could give her. Always being the polar opposite of myself, she was more like you than I had thought. It was no wonder I had been attracted to you first.

 

Untying Mabel's reins from a dying stump, we needed to head back home from our little detour after our midday ride. Hopping up top of Mabel's bare back, I petted down her mane before bringing her into a soft gallop down the small hill near the poppy fields.

 

The peeling paint of the collapsing fence was in sight, something was off. A large cart was in front of my open gate. The horses stood attentively while slowly stopping to look around before grazing on my grass. They were the same two horses I sold just a few years back to two familiar strangers.

 

Bringing Mabel to a full stop, I leaped off her back before guiding her inside the unlatched gate. I undid the bridle, letting her wonder around the property freely. A light could be seen through the front window exposing up the entire room to the world. I knew who they were, but that didn't stop me from sweating nervously. Was I presentable enough today? Looking down, I was wearing my ragged work clothes. I Looked like a mess, so there was no way I could argue my case to them that I was stable enough to take care of myself. Slicking my dirt covered hand through my hair to comb out the frayed ends, I pushed open the door.

 

She was lounging in my favorite chair, playing with her long grayed hair tied back in a ponytail. The other was examining the large amount of papers I had stuffed underneath stacks of books.

 

“You could have waited until I got home.”

 

She jumped up from her chair, coming over to hug around me. “But why wait, we didn't know how long it would take you to return. Besides, we're like family.”

 

I never thought of us as family, but after all these years of insisting I could not tell her no anymore.

 

The short man, with thickened salt and pepper shaded hair came up behind to pry her off me. “Come on Sasha, give the man some room to breathe. How are you Jean?”

 

A small brown package sat on top of the corner table, waiting for me to tear through it and relieve myself of the constant pain nagging at the back of my skull.

 

I didn't feel like answering him, “If you brought what I asked for then you're both very late.” I was shivering at the sheer thought of ripping into the package. I tugged at the collar of my shirt, it was soaked in sweat. “I sent in the request almost a week ago, what took so long?”

 

He folded his arms, “A man never changes, right Jean. Always getting right down the business with you. Brought everything you need. It took so long because Dr. Ackerman is moving out of town.”

Pulling out folded up papers from his coat pocket, he waved them in the air.“You were one of her last requests, so she wants me to have you sign some papers about changing you physician over to her underling who is staying behind.”

 

This is bad.

 

“Why is that?” My hand moved from my collar to tug at the treasure around my neck, sliding my fingers against the leather, “She can't leave, I'm her patient. She can't just leave behind her patient,” I gulped down a large lump in the back of my throat, “this is outrageous.”

 

Feeling like a wad of cotton had been forced down my throat, my mouth was drying up and I needed my medicine bad. I got up and headed straight towards the little brown box. Prying open the top I pulled out the first vial I saw. I picked it up.

 

“You don't mind if I do this now.” Like I cared if they were against it, I hooked my boot around the stool next to me before plopping down into it. Tying the scrap of cloth smothered in dried up paint around my arm, I removed the new syringe from the bottom of the box. Filling the syringe up with the liquid contents of the vial, I looked over to see them staring at me.

 

They both looked away as if I was some heathen. I plunged the tip of the needle into my arm, releasing what was long overdue. It hit me quickly as I pulled out the needle to place on the table, I untied the rag from around my arm. I want to forget who I really am, this always helped me get back to that place in my mind where pleasure was attainable.

 

“Jean!” I snapped my head around, the papers were spread across the table. A pen in one hand, he was thrusting it towards me, “did you even hear Sasha? We need you to sign the papers so we can go to the next house before it gets dark.”

 

“Right, sorry Connie.” My arm was heavy and difficult to move, was it even grabbing the pen. The object felt like lead in my hand, almost like a gas canister but it wasn't supposed to feel that heavy. I went to press the head against the parchment, but how do I spell my name. Closed my eyes and rubbed at my itching nose, the constant pressure in my skull was subsiding as my limbs lost control of themselves. My arms don't feel like my own.

 

He took hold of my hand and began to write my name for me. He was always such a sweet guy, and now as he wrote for me I understood why she stuck with him all these years.

 

“Could you not wait for us to leave for you to do this to yourself.” She nervously pulled at her ponytail as he let go of my hand, taking the pen from my grasp. She walked over to him to whisper in his ear, but I heard what she was saying.“It's sad Mikasa is doing this to him, she is only feeding his addiction.”

 

He nodded his head as he folded up the paper back into his pocket, “There is a great guilt on her shoulders for what happened to him, cut her some slack Sasha.”

 

I smiled at the two of them. “You two aren't going to leave yet, are you? We haven't even had drinks yet.” I pushed myself up on two wobbling knees, my hips pain settled and my limp self corrected as I went into the kitchen. Picking up the kettle, I was able to placed it on the stove top without dropping it. “It will only be a few, please sit for a little. Pardon me for being so hostile earlier.”

 

They both sat in the seats adjacent from the kindling stove. He looked around a little bit, taking notice of the flowers around the room. “You sure do have a lot of flowers Jean.” We have this conversation each time they visit. It never gets old, and each time it seems more refreshing to me to hear how you have not been forgotten by everyone.

 

Plucking at the stained white doily, Sasha pushed the torn ends back together. “Those flowers were worn in my old village for protection from the cold winter in the mountain tops. Some of the younger men would wear them to secure a safe return home from the hunt, but not many since they were seen as sacred flowers for soldiers.” Pulling out a thread she continued on, “some say they were reserved for soldiers who had lost their way, so picking the flower would mean one less soldier would return home from war.”

 

“But his flowers are always dead.” He crossed his arms, kicking his feet out in front of him to cross one over the other. “So how many soldiers do you think died for Jean to get his fill. His house is practically over running with these dried-out, smelly flowers.” He swatted at a full bloom, letting it crumble down to the worn out wooden table.

 

Dead? He mustn't understand botany. All of my flowers were alive and well. I reached out a heavy hand to remove the fuzzy white petal from the softened bulb. It disappeared after the initial grasp, but your petals always crumbled in my hand. I let the dust fall to my feet. How can I prove to him they were just as alive as you are when they keep turning to nothing after each delicate touch.

 

“Don't say such things Connie, that's horrible. I am sorry Jean.”

 

Shaking my head, he was right to a point. How much longer would this have to go on for. “It's no problem, he always wasn't the brightest guy on two legs.” Bringing the boiling kettle off the stove, I pulled out two dusty cups from the cabinet. “Tea?”

 

They each took a cup before I sat down to join them. “It really has been a long time hasn't it. Funny how time flies so quickly as you age. How is the city treating you two?”

 

She smiled, her gracious cheeks began to wrinkle up with the creases of her mouth. “It's lovely there, a lot of people and things to do. Our delivering business has taken off well.”

 

“That's wonderful.” I didn't have to force a smile as we spoke, “maybe I should visit sometime.”

 

He blew at the hot steam emerging from his cup. “Yes, you should really consider coming back to city with us. You could live above the shop with us. That would be better than being here all alone.”

 

What they don't understand is that I am not alone here. Each passing night I find myself with an unpleasant company. It was more than I could ask for.

 

“You can start a business of your own, sell your paintings at our shop for a decent profit. What do you say?”

 

I sighed. “Connie, you offer me this each time you come here. Are you ever going to learn this is where I belong.”

 

He sat his chipped tea cup down. “And each time you refuse my offer I wonder what is so wonderful about this place. It's dilapidated, worn out, and worst of all no one is here to accompany you. What if something happens to you Jean? Who would hear you? Who would help you out if you got hurt.”

 

I sipped at the hot beverage, “I can manage on my own.”

 

“Jean we can't be having another accident on this property.” He leaned in closer to the table, “you don't want to end up like your mother, do you?”

 

Placing my cup down, I fiddled with my thumbs not wanting to look into his eyes. I know where he is going with this, but I don't feel like having this argument with him. Not this time around at least.

 

I pushed myself up from the table, “I have something to show you two.” I left the room, heading straight for the forsaken door to the left of the main room. It's knob was rusted and smelled of dirtied metal. Pushing open the creaking frame, I slipped inside the room grabbing at the first object I set my eyes on. Without having to use a light I knew this was the perfect one to show them, make them realize that my life would be incomplete if I did not stay here.

 

Reemerging from the cobwebbed shadow of a door, I bumped it back close with my hip as I carried the large, wooden object back to the table. It was amusing how their jaws dropped and eyes lit up to the painted canvas I presented before them. They looked like they had seen a ghost and the ghost was you, but you never left me after all those years. Your skin was painted in hues of purplish gray, and your brownish hair mushed together with a striking red. It looked as if your hair was to blow in the breeze if we set the canvas outside. Stroked to perfection, your eternal beauty could elicit the fire in my heart after all these years.

 

She covered her mouth, looking as if she were about to cry. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

 

How else could I answer her, the truth is all I have left to offer.

 

“This is what life has given me to deal with my debt. The weight we all carried on our shoulders for years together, don't you two think I owe it to myself to have happiness in my final years.”

 

He slammed his fist onto my table, “just let him die already Jean. This sick obsession is going to be the death of you. For the love of Maria, let him die like he did on that battlefield for our freedom. He was a saint Jean, a wonderful martyr, but that is all he will ever be to society. A suicidal martyr. His name is forsaken Jean, erased from the text books as our generation dies off. No one will even remember his name, that is what they wanted Jean. Stop trying to bring back the dead, you'll only kill yourself.”

 

The overpowering scent of edelweiss filled the room, it made me feel nauseous before I darted my eyes out towards the window. For a split second a shadow emerged from behind the yellow tinted glass, I knew it was you.

 

“How do you still believe what the legion told you. Mission Titan Fall was a hoax, and you two don't even question why that day had to come. It was a demented plan put forth by our most trustworthy commanders to wipe their names clean, clear the slate to save their own asses. Now you two have the audacity to tell me to let him go to the grave. I can't let him go to the grave, not without me.”

 

I felt sick to my stomach but I continued on.

 

“You two will always have each other, but who am I left with? Mikasa has Armin, Christa to Ymir, Bertholdt to Reiner, and Annie, she is a sister saint, household name. A girl the walls prayed to for guidance, but what about me. Who was I left with after all of these years of isolation.” I pointed my near-arthritic finger at the canvas, “Who was I given to deal with the pain together, to strengthen ourselves and find a way out of the lifestyle of dismembered soldiers. Soldiers who walk alongside innocent residents who didn't witness or endure our suffering, our pain.”

 

I cringed at my next words, please do forgive me for this. “Nobody. I was left with nobody to heal my pain. I am nobody, the world has moved on without me.”

 

Admitting my loneliness to you was one thing, but confessing to them gave me shivers.

I felt the tears begin to well up inside but I did not let them fall. I stood up tall and regained my composure.

“I think it's time you two were on your way, don't want to make you late. Like you said, it'll be getting dark soon.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Used my Icelandic language head cannon for their somewhat love ballet.  
> Here is the song - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFNZsmY0UIQ
> 
> English Translation of the used Stanza:
> 
> My poor heart  
> will you be the end of me  
> sad where no one can see  
> your empty space.  
> dissolves in the morning because  
> you can do everything  
> and I hope my farewell will reach you

Heavy winds blew against the barn's rattling shingles as rain dropped through cracks and into multiple buckets placed around the barn. It was musty and cold, not even my heavy coat could keep my frame warm from the winter weather. It had been two months since I had seen you.

 

Letting the pitchfork fall into the stacks of molded hay, I lifted a fork full out of Mabel's stall.

Had you forgotten about me?

 

The fork fell into the dampened ground, I wiped drops of rain off my coat. My hip was painfully burning in the socket, the cold weather brought forth severe pain induced spasms. Bending and lifting was like grinding bones in an empty socket, scraping and damaging the bones slowly the more I moved. I gritted my teeth, I needed a break but the sun would soon rise. I needed to keep working.

 

Grabbing up the wooden handle, the metal prongs dug into the greenish-yellow straws. My fingers were purple, numb from the frosty morning. Hissing through clenched teeth I needed to distract myself from the pain, so I thought about mother. Beginning to hum our tune to pass the time, she used to love my vocal range when we would be humming songs together. When I was small, she regarded me as her little hummingbird. It was hard to not hum while working alongside her, a real busy-bee; she was a kind woman. I wish I could tell her that now.

 

Mabel hoofed at the ground, the rain must be breaking through the roof onto her. She was a finicky horse. I hummed on while working against the urge to throw down the broken handle, but I let the splinters cut deep into my cracking palms.

 

If you could only hear our tune fill the moribund air of the broken barn. My humming grew louder, my head filling full of wretched words I can't sing anymore. The words pierced through as my aching hands couldn't take much more of this. Where have you gone tonight.

 

_I'm right here._

 

Where have you been after leaving me awfully isolated for such a long time. The solitude is wonderful, but I worry about you until the sun rises and falls. Loudly humming alone; I apologize for the sudden chokes here and there, but I can't help it when I miss you. My humming grew thicker, a coarse low-tone filling the barn. Mabel pounded against the dirt floor. I did not stop, why would I stop when I have a chance of seeing you tonight. Needing to push myself harder, I let out a call of agony from the cold digging into my side. My leg was numb. My head was numb. I know I can be numb for you, please come back.

 

This was ours, remember.

Coming to the end of the tune, a peculiar ringing inside my head begins to drown out my own voice.

 

_Veslings hjartað mitt_  
 _verður þú mér að aldurtíla_  
 _Niðurbrotinn þar sem enginn sér_

 

A howling voice, a cackle, a break in the wind.

Turning around, I jabbed the pitchfork into the ground as the voice carried on the wind again.

 

_Tómarúmið þitt_  
 _leysist upp að morgni því að_  
 _þú getur gert hvað sem er_  
 _og ég vona að kveðjan mín komist til skila_

 

Silence.

 

The lantern at the gate flickered softly. My mind was playing tricks on me again. The medicine hasn't been working the same: cold sweats and uncontrollable lethargy, to name a few were troubling me more frequently. Racking up the sweetly sung lyrics, was that your voice I was hearing.

 

The wind now lets itself be heard.

 

The flame goes out. A darkened presence grows closer as the temperature drops. Ripping away from the broken wood, my bony fingers push outwards to touch, to feel. Is it you?

The barn doors flew open, a gust of hard wind shoved me down onto my backside and into the pile of dampened hay. A lulling voice soothed over me, my mind growing into a pile of mush. I hastily sat up, gripping into the straws underneath my bloodied palms. I called out into the receding darkness as the rain blew into the barn; nobody answered. The sun was peaking above the mountain tops, shining the first rays of dawn into my blackened surroundings, making the area become familiar again to my eyes.

 

That's when I saw it. A swift movement, a glance out of the corner of my eye. Two arms wrapped around me from behind, a nose nuzzled into the nape of my neck. A heavy breath taken in and out, then another to confirm the smells. Cedar and pine, with a hint of edelweiss. Placing my hand back to touch the brown mop of hair leaning over my shoulder, you pressed a long kiss onto my skin before letting go.

 

You hand clasps my own, running over the hardened skin before inspecting the fresh blood trickling down the gashes from the cracking pitchfork. “You need to take care of yourself.”

 

I wanted to yank away my hand from you, but the touch was velvety and warm against my cold hands. You always ran hot. Rustling to fit behind me, you leaned me back against your chest. Letting my hand fall back, you brought your own arms around me tightly. When was the last time I felt the very warmth of you, the heavy rise and fall of your chest repetitively pressing against me like a coddling youth.

 

“Why did you leave me alone for so long.” Hands pressing together, my thumbs swirled between one another, “what makes you think I wanted you back so soon.”

 

It felt comforting the way the stretched, beige fabric constricting around me pulled tighter.

“I heard you, just like a little hummingbird, the sound was so strong that the wind carried it away. I was awoken by the voice and so I followed it back to you.”

 

Highly unlikely. “Is it so hard for you to admit that you were coming to see me.”

 

Knocking your foot against my leg, you placed your palm against my forehead to jerk my head back against your shoulder. “Come on, tell me you miss me for once.” The warmth of your breath lingered across my cheek, my forehead began to drip beads of sweat. I was nervous and my throat felt swollen.

 

“I never did miss you much after the mission.” I held my breath slightly, watching your eyebrows knit together as your nose scrunched up to the pungent lies, “you left me alone all of those years here, so I sometimes wondered to myself if you were alive, or had passed away from the snow-heavy winter nights.”

 

“I never left you alone, not for once. Your cries, my name whispered into the morning air as you walked by my fields. Not once did I ever leave you.” Your grip tightened around my forehead, boring my skull down into your shoulder as you slightly trembled, “When I watch you pick a single poppy or the way you always walk to the left of your horse on the bridge. The way the sun light hits the bridge of your nose at dawn, and how your limp worsens as the day carries on. How would I be able to know this if I had ever left.”

 

I caught glimpse of the shallow chromatic teal in your eyes become glassy as you added, “so am I not here now, Jean.”

 

“But where were you when I needed you the most? While everyone was dying around me throughout the years, you somehow managed to slip past time its self, and leave me behind to pick up all of the remnants of our past.” Biting my lip as I spat, it drew blood that trickled down the fat of my lip as my hand groped at metal around the metal I still wore around my neck. “You don't deserve to be alive anymore than the soldiers who died for you. So tell me, why didn't you fight alongside them you coward. Why did you not fight alongside me all of those years ago, don't you ever think of anyone who isn't you.”

 

Furious and confused at your confession, it sickened me to know you had followed my every movement. You were wrong, but was I more than you to have let this go on for so long. Yes, I had not been ignorant of your presence, but having allowed you to become this desire-driven monster you are now, I was the sickened one.

 

“I cared for you Jean.” You hesitation to let go or not of me was apparent as I could feel your arm slacken from around me.

 

“Sure, you care for me but what about every else. The real you wouldn't have been so selfish, so tell me now where has that boy gone to.” I shook my head against your rigid shoulder as I laughed to myself, trying to suppress the voice of the real you in my head as I spoke to the empty shell I laid upon. “You're not supposed to be here, I watched Mikasa and Armin bury you. I was there when you were put six feet under. Do you know how fucked up my head has been trying to calculate why everyone thinks you're dead while I have been so fortunate to be the only one to not physically lose you.”

 

Where was that spark in your heart and the strong personality I fell in love with as I watched your lip poke out little by little and the muscles around your neck begin tense with each hard swallow you took. “Stop Jean, just stop it already. Why are you such an idiot, a fool to believe the lies they told to us.”

 

“They are not lies to the new order, the people of the new kingdom. The god forsaken counsel wouldn't even let your grave be put with the rest of the soldiers in the memorial, and you tell me not to believe you are dead. There is no reminder of your existence. Once all of us who remember have died, the next generation will be reminded of all of those who gave up their lives for their freedom inside the walls, except for the most important soldier we have ever had.”

 

“Then acknowledge the flowers, that way you have to believe in my existence.” Your trembling worsened the more you pleaded, “if one person believes then that is enough for me to keep living in the shadows of mankind.”

 

Whether the trembling was a display of emotion or not, this was exposing a new light on your behalf, for I had wrongly believed you did not feel anymore. Whether I was wrong or not, I knew you did not care as the apparent lack of apathy could be seen in your dulled eyes. Where had my lover gone to.

By not curbing your insatiable appetite for my life alongside your own, this is what we are left with: a broken boy and a dilapidated man. Both broken from war with the mindset of fight or flight engraved into our minds. We are unable to break from our traumatic back stories to realise how much we need each other.

 

My hand was coated in moisture, from sweat and humidity, and as I pried your hand from my forehead I let my body weight shift myself around into the dominant position, pinning you against the hay. Your hands pushed against me, but I did not budge. The metal from around my neck slipped out from underneath my shirt as I pushed against you with the force of my torso. Your eyes caught the blackening brass and your lips tightly pressed together in a line.

 

“Who will remember you when I'm gone, tell me!? Everyone believes that you are dead, and I.... I have become an outcast, a so called crazy hermit as the children tauntingly believe. No one would trust my word anymore, at least nobody in their right of mind would ever listen to me.”

 

Eyes not once moving off the shining metal that dangled between the closing space between us, you softly spoke, “Don't do this to yourself any longer Jean, talk to me about it. We can fix this together like old times. Stop closing me out of you.” You paused to break contact with the object to look into my eyes, “we can fix this together, but I need you to work alongside me.”

 

How long had it been since I had sworn to never stop loving you. The deeper into your eyes I descended, something had cut the red string of fate that had once bounded us together. I can't ever love something that is incapable of not hurting me in the end, but yet I am still finding myself in the infinite loop you had paved for me a few decades ago.

I wanted to kiss you hard as I listened to your voice soothe over me. “You are nothing but a walking corpse to them, a forbidden lost soul and in my old age I can not stand to see the world move on without us being their to move in unison with the changes.”

 

“Do not talk to me like a child Jean, I am not ignorant of the crimes charged against me. I am not dead to you because I feel the very pain you hide from me. As mankind builds up his empire, the land suffers more but we can share the pain together, you don't have to suffer without me anymore. If I am nothing but ash and bone in the end like the wanted, then so be it if it means your hurting will cease...”

 

My heavy hand slapped across your face, quieting your nonsense. Having spoken out against me for the last time tonight, I must show you that you do not have control over me any longer. A red mark began to appear on your pinking cheek. You did not speak, for I had broken what was left of the boy I had wanted to keep. I crushed my lips against your own, devouring and returning back to where we had left off. This time was different, as you pushed against my chest and sudden tears rolled down your eyes.

 

I grabbed your cheeks and held you steady as I licked along your lips before slipping my tongue past the swollen red fat. The pushes turned into nothing as I violated your mouth, making sure to trace along every crevice I could fathom. I played with your tongue, sucking on it before pulling my head back to breathe.

 

My voice, being almost inaudible over the sound of rain falling onto the metal rooftop, directed itself into your ear. “If you care so much about me, you won't think twice about stopping this.”

 

My free hand slipped down your shirt and to your trousers. Pushing my fingers into the hem, I felt the coarse patch of hair covering you. It was arousing, the scent I had once forgotten coming into my grasp again. Twisting and curling my fingers into the billowy, dark curls, I found what I had been looking for poking against the backside of my hand. You had always been much smaller than my own, so it was much easier to grasp around you whole before giving it a few strokes.

 

Few strokes turning into whole grasps, I wet my hand with saliva when your skin pulled against my cut palm. The pumping began to quicken, then slacken slightly as my jaw ached to have my own pleasures played out tonight. As stiff like the hay below, you did not reject my touches. Bringing my face down within inches of your own, you breathed out a soft moan when my fingers played with the head of your dick. Placing a long peck on your lips, you did not once look me in the eyes. Instead, your gaze was set on the tattered loop around my neck.

 

Your hand reached out to touch the string, but I swatted your fragile fingers away. I was able to kiss you two more times before you attempted to grab at the falling black cord again, this time I backhanded you all while beginning to lightly slap against your moistened member. Soft then forcefully, I made sure it had enough attention to each individual area.

 

_Just let go, come be with me tonight._

 

That click in my head ground against my skull, as my numbing leg felt nonexistent from the position and cold. Moan after moan, you enjoyed the heightened senses I gracefully gave you tonight. It was angering me how you did not fight me off. My hand gripped tighter, and you muffled a choke with your hands. I let my hand get dry as I rubbed you off, it must have hurt. I felt remorseful doing this to you, but you need to fight me off. To let me know I don't own you now, because you own me. You've always owned me.

 

Don't let me do this to you.

 

Closing my eyes, I bit down into your neck as I pressed the bulge in my own pants against the side of your leg. The cries mixed with pleasurable moans grew less and less as I slowed the pace of my hand. I couldn't keep this up or that stupid clicking would overpower my own self-will. I edged you on, forced your body to spasm against its own will before stopping completely. I let go of your reddening member covered in flecks of blood as my own palm had ripped open the recent wounds.

 

All I wanted was to fucking hurt you. As the sweat beaded down my nose and onto the paled skin of your neck, I could see why this anger had began. I looked down to see the metal clasped between your softened fingers, leaving the scent of metallic sweat between our bodies. The two fish resurfaced from somewhere in my memory. Lost in the current, were we like those fish? Constantly fighting to stay alive against all odds, but being unable to hold on to each other as unvarying forces rips them further apart.

I had let them die though.

Will I let us die too?

 

Your eyes were wet as your mouth was left wide open, pushing the metal object between two fingers. Whether it was from crying or the raindrops trickling down upon us, I am not sure. The rigid ends of the object had oxidized and slightly warped from me being careless with it.

 

“You promised me you'd give this to them.”

I ripped the string out from your fingers, tucking it away beneath my shirt.

You turned your head to side, away from my view. I went to touch your cheek but stopped as the crisp vapors of steam rolled across your skin. Your tears burned down your face, marking into you cheeks like they always had since the day I first met you. It was burden for you to carry, the mark of the titan.

The mark that predetermined your life forever; an outcast and hated amongst all men.

 

You muttered under your breath, “Am I the one who died, or was you who died out there on the battlefield.”

My body stiffened, becoming heavy as my mind crowded with insecurities and your fallen voice.

 

The hard winter weighs me down.

I can't move, can you?


	6. Chapter 6

Dear you with the sticks in your hair and the dirt clumped beneath your fingernails.

 

Yes, you with the paled red cheeks and grass stained knees. The torn cloak, catching on blade of grass, seemed to wisp and carry you above the same ground even a commoner as myself trudged along. I must have been watching you for quite a while, and between the cracks of the broken molding along the floorboards and through the drafty hole I could see how you paced along the cobble stone path.

 

I saw you, along with those two mischievous children today. I saw them pulling up the weeds from my yard. Then one by one, I saw you picking them up.

 

As I lay, as drunk as old Hanes after the new year, on the blackened ground, reeking of booze and my vision disoriented, I saw you crawling with the curs in the weeds just beyond the barn.

 

Might be hallucinating, the empty vials next to me blank against one another. Slipping past the rotting wood, you move out of my sight. I roll onto my left side to find you through the broken windowpane.

 

You're probably wondering why my window is cracked. Threw a painting into it, after having enough whiskey to realize you are not coming back to me after the incident a few months ago. Plagued by the memories that we do not speak, I have to keep all the broken pieces in my mouth, yours and my own, then chew the fat between the little rules we've always played by. It was like a painting of selfish desire; the fat has all but been spit out, and even though you did not speak to them, the thought of sharing you with those children angered me.

 

The weeds have grown tall as they go to your mid waist. Can you remember when they barely brushed against the back of your worn boots. The golden stems of flowering curiosity sway with the breeze.

The two children had left a while ago, leaving you in solitude outside my chipped walls and broken glass.

 

My eyelids grew heavy. I swatted myself in the arm, over and over. Pinching and twisting at the skin, slapping my fist against the ground. The empty vials clanked together.

 

I can't sleep yet because you'll be dead again in my dreams, and I can't take much more of the violent thrashing in the night.

 

I looked out the cracks, desperately searching. Found you climbing over the fence, fist full of poppies. Walking up towards the house I swear I could smell your scent, but it's more than likely imaginary. It was aromatically stale and pungent, but like the only home I could ever remember.

The front porch creaked with every step you took; the cracks in the window seemed blurry and your scent grew dull. The lantern flickered from the wind that passed into the room through the broken glass. Not being able to feel my hands, I put them underneath my armpits to warm them up.

Do you ever get cold?

 

And the vials clanked together from the movement.

But I can't sleep yet, not now.

 

Prominent knocks on the door, three to be exact.

Did you really knock? In the years of living here, you have never knocked. Not once. Not ever.

 

And they clanked once more.

Whether it was an irrational fear of the sound of glass rubbing together or fear of what was to come from the knocking, I grabbed the vials and threw them against the front door in attempt of shattering the thin glass into millions of pieces. I tried to scare you away like an animal but it didn't seem to work seeing as I was more of an animal than you could ever be.

I have been grieving this day would come.

 

“Go away, Ere – ” I Choked up, then closed my eyes. Those four letters nearly slipped past my icy tongue and into the air, almost on deafened ear. That is not you name anymore, you are merely a monster. A creature who haunts me, a torturer of departed souls. I see your shadow still below the gap between the floor and my door. Slurring many words together, the next few sentences that followed made no sense, so why you are still standing there?

 

The doorknob turns; probably should have locked that. The door swings open, you dare not to enter without permission. Feet moving apart, you crouch down, the back of your hand grazes against the ground as you lay down a bouquet of red poppies in the entryway. The door frame was the second divide between my world and yours, much like the field of poppies. Did you dare cross that divide for a second time?

 

“When are you going to visit me again because it's awfully lonely out there, or have you not forgiven yourself yet?”

 

Slipping in and out of sleep, I began to vividly see the reoccurring dream: a memory to be exact.

 

It was a long time ago, but it feels just like yesterday.

You were crying out in pain, what they had done to you did not go well with him for he had wanted to get it over with as quick as possible.

 

They first tried to burn you alive.

 

Your screams will never leave my head, and as you cried out to him to make it stop, he never once broke his poker-face. Not once did he flinch as the skin shriveled up and your hair began to fade. Your skin blackened more and more, peeling back the flesh to reveal the pinkish under-layer. It wasn't until you realized that he was not going to help you did you give up resisting the pain. My hand began grabbing at the cloak around my shoulders to go put out the flames after what felt like an eternity of torturous sounds emitting from below, but he must have had noticed the pain in my eyes. Kicking me off the edge we stood on, he had caused me to fall a good ten feet down to where you were helplessly crying.

 

I had to quickly put out the flames with my cloak. Smothering the fire out to save you from complete destruction, this was beginning of my trademark limp. Still not sure if my leg was broken or not, each step hurt more than the last but when you cried out for me, I knew I couldn't stop myself from near leaping on one leg over to you.

He was extremely unhappy with me. I had trusted him to not do this to you. You have since argued with me that he was just doing his job, and to not hate him for what he did.

Was it right for him to “just follow orders” that day?

 

I can hear his commanding voice still ringing in my head from that day. He ripped me away from you and threw me on the ground. Crouching down to be inches away from my face, his speech had been so flat.

 

_Get up you spineless coward, are you a soldier or not?_

 

My gear had been broken, shoulder dislocated and as the blood tickled the back of my leg he shoved a military grade gun into my hands. The same kind of gun that was given to me as a child to kill the very first animal I had hunted with my father before he had disappeared from war. How could I point the down the same barrel to kill the one I loved the most as I did in my youth towards rabid animals. It struck me at that moment that even the very intelligence you possessed was not above a stupid creature in his eyes, for you were just the same to him as any animal to a hunter.

 

 _Shoot_ , he commanded. I shook my head in defiance.

 _Kill him._ Pushing the cold, hard metal against my chest, he slammed me against a giant rock. I hit the back of my head hard against the giant stone. Not even giving me enough time to compute what was happening, he was violently scratching against my arms, then pulling and putting me into a head lock. I was young and naïve, gangly and slightly more gaunt than he ever would be. I fought against him, whipping my arms around to try and release myself from his snake-like hold around me. His arms were locking around my neck, causing me to be immobile as he slipped the gun out from my grasp.

 

_It's time to man up Kirschtein._

 

Forcing my hand onto the trigger, he made me pull it.

The god damn cur made me do this to you. Made me pull that shiny trigger into your chest twice, and once into your arm because I fought against him.

 

I clasped at my side, a burning sensation going up the back of my throat. Looking at the vibrant reds against the blackening panels. The memory of him was beginning to come back more clearly. The one who awoken the monster inside me and turned you into a martyr, the man who stole the very breath you took then turned around and called himself a hero. He revered you for a while and it was pathetic that you listened. Can't you see he tricked you into the monster you have become, and now you protect the most valuable secret mankind has ever had.

It was a secret only the strongest could hold onto.

To bad I was too weak to carry the same load as you, I would have taken the blows instead to protect.

 

You bring me the most precious mementos you can give, but we both know you can't carry flowers for every soldier. Yet you try.

 

They had convinced you of doing this for the sake of humanity, and I know you must have loved him like a father. You listened to his every word, followed his plan flawlessly. It was to bring humanity together for the bettering of our societies advancements and future. His fucking words sounded rehearsed, but you sat like a beaten dog by his side. I tried to convince you to desert the legion with me, but you had already been brainwashed enough to not think twice of double crossing your fellow scouts.

 

Your fellow scouts had already double crossed you.

The plan was to exterminate all titan shifters, including you.

I couldn't go through with killing you, and as the duty was thrust-ed upon me to “exterminate” you, I fell through and ended up killing the man most valuable to you. I too wanted to feel the same burning passion from you as he did; he didn't deserve you.

 

So I shot him in the back.

Sharp like the three knocks.

 

_Bang, bang, bang._

 

And you got up onto your blistered knees to crawl over and cry over his still warm corpse. Hands flew like a fresh fit of snow between pressing on the oozing bullet holes and squeezing his limping hand. I was prying you off his lifeless body when our blood had smeared against the fresh fallen snow around us. You pounded your fist against my chest and tried to escape my grasp around you. Your hands were painted in red from the corporal who tried to murder you. Your burned skin had healed up enough that the black was being replaced with a tinge of pink and your hair began to show again.

 

Had I not been your savior that day? Had I not been good enough for you to want, too.

No, I had cursed you that day because I would rather live than to live forever. Stuck now, forever picking edelweiss from the grave of your old beloved corporal and bringing them to me to remember you. To force me to never forget that fateful day is awful, but it was a fair trade-off for I had branded you with eternal damnation to walk this Earth alone.

 

I felt your arms wrapped around me, lifting me from my own filth. I had not noticed you had taken me to my bed, undressed and washed down my snotty face from being so drunk. Damn it, I must have fallen asleep again to that never ending nightmare. You removed your own dressings to lay by my side on the clean white linens. You stroked along the side of my cheek, the sudden rise and fall of your chest before resting your head against my shoulder. Toes brushing against one another, your leg hooking around my own.

As I was sobering up, it stuck me that I should have told you how painstaking it was to see you tend to me, like your ever darkening fields beyond the fence and up the mountain into your garden of forgotten soldiers, but the words never could fall from my mouth as silence swept over us that night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for anyone who is still interested in this story. I will try to post more after this semester is over, but for now enjoy what I have written.  
> Comments and/or kudos are appreciated, thank you. (:

“If you aren't planning to pay for that, then you better get that large, coward ass of yours out of my shop.”

 

I quickly fumbled around my pockets only to find lint. Pulling at the lining to find the coins I had brought with me, the store clerk was growing impatient. He tapped his foot, the noise causing me to nervously perspire underneath my armpits.

 

“I- I had it a second ago, I swear. Just hold on.” A half-bitten apple lies in front of me on the chipped wooden store counter. Having checked my front-pockets several times the coins seemed to be missing from my pockets, but it seemed impossible seeing as I had just cashed in my new government check for the war veteran reparations. While tossing crumpled papers from my back-pocket onto the counter, I had nearly knocked everything onto the floor. I leaned forward to quickly catch the falling produce to only bump into a chocolate display next to the brass register. The metal display and the freshly wrapped chocolate scattered all around my feet. “I am so sorry, just let me-” I bent down to pick up the chocolate but my hands were shaking from realization that someone must had nicked the last few coins from my back-pocket while making my way through the overcrowded city. My weaker knee gave out and I collided with the splinter filled wood, causing the half-bitten apple to fall onto my head and roll two feet from me.

 

The cashier was extremely angry and had it been possible for literal smoke to fume from his ears, it probably would have turned his produce store into one of those old man infested saunas my mother always told me about. “You better get out of my store Kirschtein, or I am going to have to call the guards to remove you.” He moved around from behind the counter, a wooden plank in his hands ready to beat me out if I had denied his request.

 

I held my hands up defensively as I slowly backed away from the older man. “Alright, I am leaving.”

 

“And take that apple with you, it is of no use to me having had a horse already bite into it.”

 

I bent down and picked up the apple as I hastily stumbled out of the produce store. Out of the front door and into the street, I looked inside to see the old clerk picking up the mess. Touching my hand against my pocket, I reached into it check for the two small chocolate bars I had taken while he was in a fit of rage. Seeing that he had not ran out after me yet, I guess he hadn't noticed the fact I had stuffed my coat pockets with a random assortment of items taken from around the shop.

 

Sure, it might not have been right of me to fake having lost my money, but when times get hard I have to do what I can to get by with the pitiful amount of coin that our new founded government considers a reasonable price for the lives, dead or alive, lost to the great war. The new found republic consists of rich pigs just as the monarchy had, and sometimes I don't even understand why we had an uprising to begin with if we just ended up back in the same song and dance. The poor continues to get poorer as the riches wealth grows.

 

Reaching down to feel the cut lining within my boot, I felt for the small amount of coins wrapped up inside some of the newly recreated paper money. All of my coins and bills were accounted for and still against the back of my calf. Having reassured myself that I had indeed not lost any while moving around the store so abruptly, I slowly made my way down the lined streets where horses pulled many of carriages now in the center. Going down a darkened alley way I found myself face to face with Mabel, her white mane seemed to be glowing in the darkness from a small lit lantern above her. I reached into my coat pocket for the half-bitten apple then held it out for her, which she accepted immediately into her yellow toothed mouth.

 

“Good girl,” I brushed down the course white patch on the front of her face, “I'm sorry for leaving you in this dark place, but I couldn't have anyone tempted to take the most precious thing I have left.”

 

I know Mabel is incapable of understanding me, but she can feel my emotions when I am around her. She blew out snot from her nose before nuzzling against the top of my head, apple pieces and juices along with spit probably being wiped into it as she swept the bottom of her chin against my hair.

 

Untying her reins from the plank of wood that was nailed against the boarded up door of a closed down business, my foot quickly made its way into the stirrup while using the strength of my good leg to hoist me up on top of her. Out of the alley and into the common area we strode towards the center of the town to make one last stop before returning home.

 

It has been years since I have been in this part of the town, so I figured seeing if an old friend still lived here or not could never be a real waste of time. The center of town was packed with many of different people. Children playing around an enormous white slate fountain; with wooden hoops and bright hopes, they ran around together like packs of dog. Mothers and grandparents were gathered around the children, and as they spoke amongst one another birds flew from overhead and landed around the scattered breadcrumbs around the shoes of the wealthy. I couldn't help but to notice their shoes as I strode by: an assortment of light shades from off-white to even lavender. You could always tell status by shoes, and each one of them had no place being around the horse-shit covered ground. But yet they were, and they all were enjoying themselves acting like a great bunch of squealing hogs. I looked down at my own boots, dark brown to conceal the mud splatters and scuffed around the edges, between the grooves was mud plastered with pebbles from walking on dirt trails. I bet their grooves had traces of expensive rug and marble slate, nothing like my own boots. I used to be like them, but now I have come to despise fellows who wear brightly colored, clean shoes.

 

Striding along a cobbled pathway, the cracked buildings began to fade into white shuttered manors and villas. Riches amongst pork-bellied liars and murderers, the wealthiest of homes with their large gated fences and over-exaggerated numbers to assure travelers where they are. The upkeep of front gardens with paid gardeners of lower status; cornflowers, viola pansys ,and narcissus to name the least, which lacked any signs of stem rot or aphids, powdery mildew or slugs. Perfection rolled up in prepaid packages from cobblestone to white wooden doors.

 

A quaint Georgian style house with shanty brown slates for a roof, unlike the rest, and a cream trim to the clean shutters against the blackening red brickwork. No fancy columns or porch to tie Mabel up to, just a single step up to the door and I'm soon finding myself knocking alongside the bronze numbers 104. A flick of the lantern outside startled me but before I could comprehend how it lit up and half-disheveled, yet presentable figure opened the door.

 

He smiled and ran a hand through his mid-length hair, small reading spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “It's about time you stopped by to visit Jean, come inside it's very cold out there.”

 

His hospitality had not changed, and as we both stepped into his marble floored foyer I began to bend down to untie my bastard boots. He placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “no need for that” before simply helping guide me back up. I had never been as good at etiquette but he could understand why I swayed back up on two legs. I was nervous but when I say I, I mean we both are nervous. Sitting down into the leather armchair I had been lead to, he poured and brought over to me a glass of brandy.

 

He sat across from me and swirled around his own crystal-like glass filled with amber liquor in his hand before taking a long sip. His eyes were a deeper blue than I remembered. He cleared his throat before speaking, “how long has it been since we've sat down together for a drink? Five... six or maybe even more.”

 

Took a long sip from the glass before speaking,“It's been a while and for all we know seven years seemed to have slipped by without us, but who's counting anyways.” I found myself unable to look away from the sweating cup in his hand.

 

He pressed the glass against his folded knee, “have you still been going to the chapel since the last time we spoke? I remember you wanted to find that extending hand to help you through your hardships.”

 

“No, I haven't gone back to that place in a long time. They sort of trick you into believing that if you go long enough someone there might give you the big break you've been looking for. Turns out it was just full of crooks and women, but the women are blinded by their self-absorbed justice of feeding the needy through soup kitchens to realize their husbands have embezzled enough to keep the poor, poor and the needy, needy.”

 

“Ahhh,” he paused for a moment but didn't take long to gather his thoughts, “that's unfortunate, I had really been rooting for you all those years to have made a decision that would benefit you. I guess I had been wrong to assume that your mothers old chapel could do their best to help you in mourning.”

 

My glance flickered up from the glass to the blue eyes looking straight back into my own, “I never needed much financial help to begin with, I was wrong for believing that somehow religion could salvage what was left of my mind and body before I become a complete waste. It was more of a stability I longed for than any sort of expense.”

 

“It seems like you need the extending hand now, right? That's why you've come here after all.” He straightened up in his seat, pulling down at his dark blue coat, “You can just tell me Jean that you need some financial stability, but please give me a heads up before you come knocking for cash.”

 

I leaned forward quickly, setting the glass of brandy down on the coffee table in front of us. “I don't need your money Armin, I need your conversation, a companionship of some sort. It'd just be for a few days and that's all I would ever ask of you. I know you're a busy man but please I am going insane and the insatiable itch to go find him, well I just can't control it much longer.” I sighed, letting my shoulders dip down slightly, “the medication might not be strong enough anymore”

 

He didn't answer but looked sideways towards the lights emitting through tall glass cylinders placed along the wall. I nervously fiddled with the lining of my pockets, damn itch in the head was infuriating but I had to suppress it for good tonight. Had to make him see the old me was still in here, somewhere in here.

 

“I might not be the most good-natured man, I know, but damn it Armin I sure in hell can trust you more than I can trust myself. Help me help myself, or just understand why this is progressing into something far beyond what I can understand is real or not. Am I insane or is there something I could have done to prevent this all from ever happening. If the Saints are as real as the chapel makes them out to be, then were is my blessing encrypted in stone and the overflowing wealth you were happily given from the republic.” I grabbed at my jittering leg, bouncing up and down, and dug my fingernails in my knee because I felt like vomiting. The pent up anger, all leaving at once, “where is my rise to glory, my fortunes bechanced.”

 

I slammed my fist against his coffee table, wiped at the corner of my eye before catching the patterned yellow wallpaper to distract myself from thinking about you in the midst of my own mock-confessional. He stood up from his seat then said, “I can help you forget fortunes and glory, Jean, make tonight worth something more than a fist to the table or a tumble down some stairs,” straightening his slackened black pants before moving towards the large bookcase that runs the length of the floor to ceiling. A phonograph sat alone on a round chestnut table next to the shelves and he bent down beside the table to grab a record. He placed it on the phonograph and move the arm over the lip, dropped it down and there was a light crackling before the music began.

 

“Let's not get too rambunctious tonight, it would be a shame if you broke the very cup in your hand.”

 

It was a waltz, much like the kind they taught us back in the military to dance to when we were brought to social gatherings. He tapped his foot as he took sips of his brandy, “this was the best waltz they ever taught us. Do you remember that Jean?” He smiled into the reflecting light in his cup, “we always thought we were so elegant while dancing amongst governors and chairmen, counselors and the king that one time. I remember Connie being a bit too short when dancing with Sasha, and Christa always putting her hair up in the bun before even putting a foot on the floor.”

 

He was the best at making people forget their own problems, and as I stood up on two feet and downed remaining liquid in the glass in one setting before putting it down. Ran fingers through my hair to push it back the best that I could, like old times. His grin never wore off and he knew what we were about to do and it never bothered him once to think of this as something forbidden or wrong, because to us it was all we had left anymore. Seven years of waiting, seven years of lusting for the one thing we both could never have back. We both stepped into eachother's space and for a moment our heights were emphasized because he only came to my shoulder, but it worked in our favor. I placed one arm out, and he mirrored me then clasped hands, his other arm on my shoulder and mine a bit too low underneath his arm. What did we care, we are older and have nothing to give a damn about. We spun around his room, between the furniture and around the perimeter of the flooring. Bumping into things only made us grin and waltz faster. I lifted him up at the part I do remember lifting Christa up many of times at, and he was much heavier than I remembered, or maybe I am weaker than before.

 

We waltzed until the arm lifted and a dead silence fell between us, looming over our heads but we didn't let go of our position. We waltzed slowly in silence, his eyes fell to my chest as he breathed in heavily. “Sometimes I miss your company at night when I'm up until dawn drawing architectural plans for the board of advancement.” We stopped moving and he took a step forwards, forcing me to close the distance between us and I could hear my own heartbeats ringing in my red-tipped ears.

 

“I've missed you too,” I confessed to him, but was it him I wanted to say this too. Even with his limp golden locks, and descending blue eyes; his lack of strong stature and much too different height he was able to bring me back to the place where you and I were happy. He was the closest thing to you, and even though he wasn't you he could in hell be the next best thing. He had your drive and ambition but lacked the capability to put his heart before his head.

 

Pushing a strand of hair back into place behind his earlobe, he moved quickly against my lips. It was his most endeavoring attempt to stop the age-old single doubt we both had kept in the back of our minds. The parted years stringed along our greatest fears, but was this wrong of us to do when all we ever wanted was gone. Between gasps of breath and swollen lips I whispered, “please don't do this to me again.” My attempts were useless for our forced kisses and glue-like grips lead us up his creaking staircase like children running to hide. Into his cramped bedroom, we were quick and rough.

 

He lead me towards the bed while walking backwards. The backs of his knees hit the bedside and he collapsed backwards with myself toppling over on top of him. He grabbed at my shirt, pulling roughly at the front then scrambling down towards the hem of my pants. I lightly pushed his hands away from my pants and instead brought my own towards his, grabbing in full at his bulge. He let out a soft, breathy moan as I pressed my palm down. A pleasurable look in his eyes and a quick glance to the side, his hair fell in around the contrasting dark brown sheets around him.

 

He was plain, and homely now. His skin had gotten less soft over the years and slight wrinkles formed above his brows from pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration. His age showed from his tea stained teeth and the very small stomach that had come from aging and slouching over a desk most of his days. He was fed better than in his youth and much better dressed. With knowledge that was seemingly endless yet still eager to learn more with each passing breath he took in looking over books covered in thick films of dust. His lips tasted different than they had years ago, but a good difference like honey lemon and pipe tobacco with the delightful imagery of cedar boxes filled with frankincense and sandalwood.

 

I kissed up his neck, and fluttered my eyelashes against his skin making a gruff sound elicit from his throat before he pushed lightly for me to stop tickling his sensitive spot. He pressed himself against my palm and I slipped his waistband downwards, with no protests of course. I paused before advancing to get assurance that this was alright, he slipped his undergarments down himself and nodded for me to go ahead.

“Come on, give me that pretty mouth of yours” he cunningly whispered as he wiped his thumb across his own lips to demonstrate just how much he wanted it.

 

Licking at my own parched lips, I moved down towards his pelvis. Gripping my hands onto his thighs, I rubbed up and down them in a soothing manner. I leaned forward, with one hand grabbed the base of his cock and guided it into my mouth. He sucked in a breath of air and bit his bottom lip and he grasped the bedsheets beneath him as I began to slowly make my way down to the base and up. I bobbed my head to a slow rhythm at first, letting the flat of my tongue press against the underside of his cock. Rubbing his thigh with my free hand still I used the hand at the base to rub small circles on his balls then back to pump in unison with my mouth.

 

He hissed out a slight mumble of what sounded like fuck, then laced his fingers into my hair and tugged at my head to go faster; which I obliged to. We were loud and sloppy, and as I let him practically ram into my mouth I began to realize just how much more humble he had become in his age. Had to be pushing his late-forties by now but something was exhilarating and exciting about this new him. He wasn't afraid to be himself, to push clean fingernails into my shoulder with each lick across the tip and the frantic need to fuck my face. It was new but beautiful, and I was terrified because with every small hitch of breath of him coming closer to the edge I too was becoming different.

 

As if a tiny titan had been released on the inside, it felt like the very stitching holding me together day-in-day-out was starting to break and the hands of wrath would grab my very throat and choke me. I closed my eyes, let the image of him with his head back and thighs pressed against my cheeks as I took in his whole length be the only thing important at this moment.

 

“F– Shit, I'm.. ah,” was all I heard before his hot seed filled my mouth and his hip spasms grew softer until I released his limp member from my mouth. Wiping at the corner of my lip, he looked into my eyes as if he needed to do some sort of favor, begging to let me allow him to touch me. He sat up and began to go for my own pants again, but just as the last time I swatted his intrusive fingers away.

 

“No need for that, I am fine.” I lied to him for the first time tonight, but I couldn't tell him the truth for not wanting to be touched. Being touched brought me back to that very place where you and I could be. There was a place where he, or anybody else, could ever imagine getting into without the key. I had been locked up to anyone else for so long that I had forgotten how to enjoy myself in casual sex. “I'm sorry.”

 

Didn't really need to apologize for that, he understood and as he stood up to pull his bottoms back on he softly grasped my shoulder and gave me a quick flash of teeth. “If you'd like to stay the night you can.”

 

“Thank you,” I stood up alongside him which made our height difference all that noticeable again, “but what about my proposal of coming back with me? It'd just be for a few days.”

 

He amusingly laughed at the remark, then stood on his tiptoes to push my ruffled hair back into place, “let me sleep on it and I promise to answer in the morning, but for now we both need some rest.”

 

Somewhere in the deep of my heart I could not refuse his offer, so I took it and got a decent bed and a warm place to hang up my tattered cloak and rest my aching feet. For once I didn't feel the piercing eyes watching over me as I slept. I did not dream of that dreadful day years ago, but a clear one with the sun shining down on a field full of poppies after long showers of rain. The wind blew the petals against one another, and the worms forcibly floated up to the surface from the water. Unable to hide in the comfort of dirt, they wriggled amongst open soil and hot sunbeams to be picked apart by scavenging predators. From the worms perception, life was vulnerable but free, and at any moment ready to be taken up by something bigger than himself. I too wonder what will swallow me up next and as the worm was taken up into the mouth of the hungry, would it be better to be swallowed whole or chewed into pieces?


End file.
